Chapter 266: Killed A Cat
Chelsea faltered, just for a heartbeat. But when she regained her composure, her tone turned cold and sharp. “Aside from those directly involved, no one else could possibly know about that incident. So… who told you? How is that person now? And what exactly is your reason for showing up in front of me?”
Though her expression remained calm, the rapid-fire questions and the slight tremor in her voice betrayed a crack beneath the surface.
She refused to believe it.
Once, long ago, she had let herself dream. Dream that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t really died. That it had all been a mistake.
But reality had always been swift to intervene. The dead don’t come back. No matter how much you wish, no matter how tightly you hold on, death doesn’t bargain.
People age, people die. It’s the one law the world never breaks.
Fabian would die. She would die. And so would Miriam.
Given that certainty, what was the point in clinging to the past?
In the end, everyone ended up in the same place. It didn’t matter who you were in life, how much power you held, or how much wealth you hoarded. Death offered no exceptions, no favors.
If they couldn’t be together in this life, then perhaps the underworld would reunite them. They’d cross the bridge side by side, enter the next life hand in hand.
Maybe fate had denied them this lifetime, but who was to say what the next would bring?
She had accepted that and had made peace with it, for they were destined to meet again. But the moment a man bearing Fabian’s face appeared before her, that carefully constructed peace—the mask she’d worn for twenty years—shattered without warning.
Struggling to quiet the storm inside her, Chelsea fixed her gaze on the man who called himself Kurt, her expression deliberately blank. She clung to her aloof composure, hoping it would be enough to deter him. Kurt gave a faint, almost resigned smile. “Ms. Yardley, you ask too many questions all at once. For now, I can only tell you this. I’m here because something urgent brought me.”
He raised his phone and turned the screen toward her.
The moment her eyes landed on the photo, her expression shifted. “This is…” she murmured.
Casey was casually scrolling through her phone when a post caught her eye: Few know that the fire was by Ms. Yelena Quixall, who left a pot unattended while cooking, letting it burn dry and causing the fire. I allegedly killed a cat before that. Here’s the image.
Attached was a photo of a woman with long, wavy hair reaching out of a window, holding what looked like a tiny kitten—barely one or two months old—in her hand.
The same account posted a video. Casey tapped on it. An old man appeared on screen, saying, “Ah… yes, I’ve been to their house before. That celebrity you mentioned answered the door. Besides him, there were two women and another man. Honestly… They were having quite a wild time. It’s… rather shameful to even talk about.”
The interviewer asked, “Did you happen to see any pets at their place?”
The old man shook his head. “Nope. Just a few folks inside. Not a single cat or dog in sight.”
“I heard that when the fire broke out upstairs, you were downstairs and saw it happen. Is that true?”
“That’s right. I overheard a young guy saying the fire started because someone left a pot on the stove and forgot about it. Burned dry.”
“Are you sure you didn’t mishear anything? Maybe your hearing isn’t what it used to be?”
The old man’s face twisted with offense. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I’ve got a few more years on me doesn’t mean I’m deaf or delusional! I know what I heard. You young people these days… no respect for your elders and not a shred of empathy!”